


Growing Up

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake has some growing up to do; he'd always been told that. He'd never anticipated, though, that growing up would thrust him so quickly into a brand new world where he has to help others grow up, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

i.

 

The third time he meets Gwen Stefani, she’s cradling a baby boy. It provokes something in him, that image, something he’s tried to push away for years because ‘I’m not ready’ and ‘Stop nagging me’. Miranda is all he’s wanted for a long time, since the first time he laid eyes on her, really, and it’s frustrating him that there’s been this emptiness creeping up on him lately. He’s a happy man, a contented man, and admitting that maybe work and wife aren’t enough anymore is… Well, he feels guilty.

“His name’s Apollo,” his newest colleague says to the unasked question, holding the child closer so he can see. “He’s a little fidgety or I’d let you have a hold.” There must be something in his eyes, something he hadn’t intended to share, because Blake notices the way she takes a tiny step forward, cradles her son tighter to her chest and adjusts the blanket around him (it’s so natural, that movement, and he finds himself wondering whether every woman just instinctually _knows_ what to do). “You like babies, don’t you?” she says and there’s surprise in her voice and something else, some kind of edge, that he can’t quite identify.   

“I do,” he says, clearing his throat because suddenly there’s a lump in it and oh god, this shouldn’t make him this emotional. He barely knows this woman and…

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” She shifts her hold on baby Apollo and suddenly one of her small hands is on his face and one of her fingers is wiping away a tear. And he couldn’t be more embarrassed. She’s smiling and it’s a little bit bemused and a little bit touched as well, and he finds himself memorizing the way she looks in this moment. Stars always have this weird sort of presence, this aura that you can just feel, and Gwen has it in spades. He’s met a lot of celebrities in the past few years and this woman is, in many ways, no different. And yet it feels different, this moment of almost intimacy with a person he barely knows.

“I dunno what that was, sorry,” he apologizes, quickly swiping at his cheek. “I don’t usually get so emotional over babies, you know. I mean, they’re great and all, but…”

“You don’t have kids, do you?” she asks, and there’s a genuine interest in her question which has him realizing that maybe this is someone he can be friends with. It’s not a romantic spark or anything like that but it’s a feeling, nevertheless, a kind of recognition. 

“I don’t.” 

“Just not ready yet?” She looks him over, maybe trying to figure out how old he is, and he finds himself wanting to justify his childlessness, oddly enough. It’s not ME, it’s my wife, he wants to tell her. Except not, because she doesn’t need to know that his mind’s been going a little crazy recently and she probably wouldn’t even care. All marriages have issues, after all, and he’s got it better than most. His wife is super talented and gorgeous and supportive and he can’t imagine loving anyone more than he loves her. There are some nights, though, when he has dreams of children, of teaching a son with his eyes how to fish, of seeing Ran helping their little girl onto a pony for the first time. 

He’s less and less certain as the years go by that it’ll ever happen and usually he’s okay with that. There’s an acceptance and, besides, maybe when Ran gets a little older, she’ll feel this wanting, too. Hopefully.

 

Gwen’s quiet, he realizes then, and he’s probably already fucked up things with her, made her think he’s some hick who can’t even carry on a conversation properly. “Do you want to hold him? she asks then, and it’s like something in him breaks a little bit, because yeah, he does, he really does. 

He barely has a chance to say ‘yes, please’ before there’s a little body in his arms, Apollo’s head supported by his arms (and he’s thankful for spending time with his niece because he CAN do this) and his little legs flailing a bit. There’s a shitload of swaddling cloth and material wrapped around him and he can still feel the movement. Kids at this age always seem so tiny and delicate but there’s actually power behind the kick and he finds himself smiling broadly. Gwen is as well.

“Looks good on you,” she says with a short laugh. “I always loved seeing Gavin with the boys when they were this age. You know, like, there’s just something about a man holding a baby, I guess. It’s sweet.” She touches his face again, brushes a curl away from his forehead. “I won’t tell anyone.”

 

And he knows she means all of it, that he can trust her to hold his weakness close.


	2. Chapter 2

** ii. **

 

It feels wrong, keeping his ring on but knowing that, within months, everyone is going to know that these moments are a sham, that his marriage is irrevocably over, dead, no more. He’s seen Gwen fidgeting with her ring, too, for the few hours that they’ve filmed so far today, and again he feels that welling up of sympathy for her.

She’d taken his phone that morning, put her number in alongside some quickly-snapped selfie. “If you need me,” she’d said, closing his hands and hers over the phone. He’d wanted to hold on, to entwine their fingers, pull her closer.

“And if you need me?” he’d asked, hating the way her expression shuttered, the way she seemed to withdraw. She drew in a deep breath but didn’t speak. “It’s okay to feel that,” Blake had reassured her. “I get it.”

Her head had come to rest on his chest and he’d automatically put his arms around her, closing his eyes and letting the feeling of comfort envelop him. They’d shared a little about what was going on with each other, a brief sketch (she’d probably omitted as much as he had; it was embarrassing to talk about), but it hadn’t taken long to realize how very fucked up it had been for Gwen, how much her husband had done a number on her, breaking her trust over and over again.

 

Filming on The Voice had always been enjoyable for him, even though being away from home (and from Miranda) had been extremely difficult. Today and, he suspects, the week to come, is going to be hell on both of them. The boys are all visiting, though, and he’s determined not to let his mood affect the potential today has. He hasn’t seen them for a long ass time and he doesn’t mind admitting to himself that he’s curious: curious to see how Gwen acts around them, even just curious to see how they’ve grown. Apollo must be walking by now (or near to it), and he’s suddenly hit with another wave of what he’s come to recognize as melancholy. 

Because what are the chances of having kids now? Really? It would be so easy to hate Miranda for the cheating but he almost thinks the regret is worse. He knows he loved her, he remembers loving her so, so much, but there’s this overwhelming thought he keeps having. What if the last ten years hadn’t happened? Would he have met someone else? Would he have children now? Would he be happy? 

It’s impossible and it’s tying him up on knots. And then Kingston walks by his chair, head down and frowning at Gwen’s phone, and he wants to reach out, say hi, but the boy doesn’t know him from Adam (the Bible one, not the Levine one) probably, and so he says nothing. 

 

They’re on a break from taping when he gets a text message. From her. And it’s odd the way there’s a thrill in seeing her name pop up like that. They’d become friendly last time she’d been a coach but he thinks that maybe they’ll become proper friends this time round. 

**Come back? Boys wnt to catch up w you**

He doesn’t bother answering, just walks straight out. Because he’s learned one thing recently; he’s helpless when it comes to Gwen, absolutely helpless to do anything but what she wants, what he thinks she might want.

 

Gwen’s laying on the couch when he makes his way past various crew and production and spots them. Apollo’s sitting on her stomach, bouncing a little, and Blake smiles a little when he notices her wincing with every movement. Kingston’s still frowning (and is it just his personality? the divorce? he’s sure the kid was happier this time last year) and Zuma’s pre-occupied with stomping on an old Coke bottle. 

“You called?” he says, and that’s probably an awkward way to announce his presence but his mind is a little numb lately and it’s the best he can do. 

“Blake!” Zuma races over to him and throws him arms around him, and the force almost knocks him back a step. 

“Woah! Hey there, buddy.” The kid’s hug is tight and sweet and what the hell. Blake reaches down and picks Zuma up, swings him around because who doesn’t like that? Besides, Gwen’s watching them with this odd little soft half-smile on her face and he wants to keep it there. 

“Mom said you’re an actual cowboy and…” He looks down and emits a small sound of excitement that has him laughing. “You’re wearing the boots she said you would be! They’re not proper cowboy boots like mine, though.” 

Gwen shoots him an apologetic look. “He insisted. I’m hoping it’s a phrase,” she laughs. There’s a kick to his shin and he lets Zuma back down. And yep, cowboy boots are on his feet - brown ones with some godawful floral design. 

“D’ya like ‘em, Blake?”

“Sure do. I’ll have to find out where your mama got them and get me some for Christmas, hey?”

“Mom said we can come out and watch all the singers this time. ‘pollo’s going for a nap.”

“Lucky him. I wish I could,” Blake jokes, and why does he keep glancing at Gwen to see her reaction? He so does not need this right not, this weird anticipation, this odd contentment, this desire to make her smile again, to make her smile because of _him_.

 

They leave a few minutes later, go back on set together, walking side by side, Kingston next to Gwen and Zuma in between them both, holding their hands. 

It almost feels like being a part of a family.


	3. Chapter 3

iii.

 

He hadn’t known where else to go, but he feels a right jackass, standing at her door this late at night, hands shoved in pockets and eyes red-rimmed, the smell of vodka probably still on his breath from hours earlier. She opens it to him, of course, because she’s a good person, and, because he’s _not_ , he takes advantage, skips the hellos and how are yous and spins her so she’s pressed up against the wall and his lips are on hers. Her shirt is rucked up and his hands almost at her breasts before he realizes something’s wrong, that Gwen is actually pushing him away, not pulling him towards her.

Disgusted with himself, he takes a step back, notices with horror that the door isn’t even shut. “Fuck,” he mutters, and walks straight back out again.

She chases him, the sound of her bare feet on the concrete behind him adding guilt to the mix of emotions he’s already feeling.

“Fuck’s sake,” he manages to get out this time between clumsily reaching for his car keys and avoiding her gaze. It’s not meant to be like this. They’ve been casually hanging out a lot lately, making out, having sex, talking about how miserable they are. But it’s never been a need, just a desire. He’s made sure of it, is determined not to put himself in a position of weakness again.

“Blake,” she says and her voice is so soft and concerned that he might just cry again, right here in the drive. “Come back inside.”

She shouldn’t be offering, not now, not ever, not when he’s such a mess. They’ve had long conversations about her own complicated history and he knows that adding another burden to her mind is completely unfair. He has plenty of buddies – and family – who are more than happy to support him and look after him, after all. 

Her hand on his forearm is light but insistent, and what he really wants to do is just consume all her goodness and light, let it cover him and fill him until he can’t feel anything else. “It’s okay,” she reassures him. “I just - ”

“I didn’t mean to,” he blurts out. “I mean, come here. And kiss you. My song was on the radio. Our -”

 

She makes hushing noises, noises which are probably used more often on tired children and naughty pets. He doesn’t even mind, really, lets her steer him back to her home before he can explain (incriminate?) himself. The door gets shut this time and then they’re in the living room, removing various toys and pacifiers and books so they can sit down.

The moment her fingers find his, soft palm meeting his calloused one as their digits entwine, he finds himself relaxing slightly, the tension ebbing out of him bit by bit. She sighs, too.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Do _you_?” he replies, eyebrow raised. “You were the one who basically couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” 

She squeezes his hand and then breaks eye contact, looking around the room almost as if –

 

“Oh my god,” Blake groans. “I forgot. You have - ”

“Yeah, they’re mine for the week.” No little bodies suddenly make appearances from behind the couch so he thinks they’re probably safe, that he hasn’t scarred their little eyes forever. Cos that’s just what he needs right now, ruining the lives of innocent children. “It’s okay, you know. They weren’t downstairs. You weren’t caught and Kingston isn’t going to duel you for my honor.”

“I might be forced to pretend to lose,” he says with a small smile, still trying to figure out the best way to apologize. He’s an old hand at that after the past ten years. “Really, Gwen, it just completely slipped my mind. I went a little crazed there, I guess, sitting at home and I just didn’t think.”

“You thought to come here,” she says in an almost awed-sounding whisper, shifting so that her body is almost completely pressed to his side. “To me.”

“Of course.”

 

He lets himself sink back into the couch, puts an arm around her shoulder. It’s not a _move_ ; it’s just needing to touch her. It’s been that way since the first time she’d worked up the nerve to kiss him, that flare of want, of lightning, practically every time she’s near him.

“God Gave Me You,” he says finally, needing to break the comfort of silence (this isn’t his house and she’s definitely not his woman). “It’s kind of our song, y’know. Had it at the wedding, dedicated it to her, sang it with her, all of it. They played it on the radio and some DJ thought it would be a great idea to give _me_ a freaking lecture on the importance of fidelity and keeping vows. I mean, thanks buddy.” He almost chokes on the sarcastic words, finds himself wanting to just say everything, the moments of wishing he were dead, the moments of wishing _she_ were dead too.

He doesn’t, though.

Gwen’s almost curled up in his lap the moment he realizes _something_ has changed in the room. It’s very clear what the something is soon after because two accusing eyes meet his when he turns, confused at a sound which doesn’t belong, towards the hall.

Well, shit. He freezes, has absolutely no fucking idea what to do. Apparently parents are super attuned to their children, though, because she calls Kingston’s name out without even turning her head. Blake tries to remove his arm, to put a greater distance between him and his lover, but Gwen resists.

“What are you doing, Mom?” her eldest son asks as he rounds the corner, watching them with a strange look in his eyes. Maybe the kid’ll grow up to be a judge or a lawyer or something, because Blake swears he’s simultaneously feeling chills and sweating his ass off.

Gwen doesn’t have the same qualms, just slowly extracts her hand from where it had been sitting entwined with his in her lap. She pats the soft couch, a space next to her just made for another person and Kingston obeys, perching on the very edge like he’s about to escape.

“Why’s he here?”

None of the questions have been directed towards him and that’s understandable, really. While they’re not strangers (and he thinks they had a decent conversation last time the boys stopped by the set), he’s a complete interloper and this is NOT his place.

 

Kingston’s rubbing his eyes and Blake suddenly realizes what the time is, how completely inappropriate it is that he’s literally just barged into this house – with three children – at midnight. Something is fucked up and he’s pretty sure it’s him.

“Hey, Gwen,” he says quietly. “I should probably go now, ‘kay?”

She doesn’t take her eyes off her son, just touches Blake’s wrist gently. “Stay. Just for a minute. For me.”

So he does.

 

“Honey,” she says and he knows it’s not him she’s talking to but it makes him miss stupid affectionate petnames and why couldn’t he have been born less sentimental? Kingston’s fists are clenched together but he’s paying attention, listening intently. “You know Blake. You know we’re friends. He needed to talk.”

“You weren’t talking,” he says through gritted teeth. “It’s late.”

Gwen shoots him a look, a question, and he nods. Tell him.

“We _had_ been talking. Blake was upset and he needed to speak to me about it.” All true but not the whole truth, never that.

He knows he shouldn’t butt in, that this is a matter between parent and child, but he wants to reassure the boy, doesn’t want to be hated or despised. No, the relationship they’re forging probably won’t go _there_ (sometimes he wonders what it would be like, though, having a family to come home to), but nevertheless…. “Hey, King?”

“Kingston,” comes the reply through gritted teeth. “You don’t know me.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right.” He doesn’t make a big deal about it because that won’t help either. “You get sad sometimes, right? Have a good cry?”

“Not as often as you, apparently,” the kid says with a sleepy smirk, eyeing Blake’s splotchy face. Which, yeah, fair point. In another life, at another time, he’d enjoy sparring with him, probably.

“Crying isn’t a bad thing. Sometimes there are times when things are just not going well and you need a hug, right?”

“And Mom’s hugs are the best,” he says slowly, fidgeting with the hem of Gwen’s shirt.

“They are.”

And it’s true. Blake adores hugs, loves physical affection and cuddling, no matter who with. But Gwen’s hugs are his favorite, and he thinks it’s more because it’s _her_ than because of any superior technique. It’s a dangerous path.

 

“If you’re not comfortable with me hanging out here, Kingston, you let your mom know, okay? I don’t want to be a problem.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not a problem.” Finally, the boy makes eye contact and in that moment, he’s suddenly struck by how much like his mother he actually is. It’s easy to forget just because physically he immediately looks so much like Gavin. The expression he’s wearing now, though… “You’d better not hurt her.”

“I’d rather shoot my own head off.” Gwen shoots him a horrified look at that, but Kingston grins. It warms him.

“Good," he says fiercely like something has been settled. 

And that’s that. Within seconds, he and Gwen are alone again, almost like nothing has happened. Except that it has. It feels almost like he’s made it over a hurdle he wasn’t expecting to have to cross; and, well, the newest emotions welling up in him are pride and hope.


	4. Chapter 4

iv.

 

Some nights, lying in bed with Gwen curled up against him, his mind won’t stop worrying. He worries about her dumping him, about her finally realizing that he’s not worth shit and that she deserves better, after all. His girlfriend (they haven’t had _that_ talk yet, but he’s started thinking of her that way and it’s less scary than he thought it would be) is a nurturer by nature, an encourager, and as much as he loves the way she compliments him, he fears being found out. He’s not _hiding_ anything from her, but he can’t imagine he’s going to be enough for her once they’ve gotten past this time of mutually leaning on one another.

 

“Blakeeee, I can hear you thinkin’,” she mumbles into his shirt, fingernails lightly scratching at his chest. “Go to sleep. S’late.”

“I’m nervous,” he finally admits. “Are they going to hate this?”

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout? The boys?”

“I don’t want this to be over yet.” He can feel the way she stiffens at his words, how her whole body folds in on itself ever so slightly. He didn’t mean it like that, though, hates that she could think that statement was some kind of fucked prelude to him dumping her. Never like that. Never at all, if he has his way. “Gwen,” he continues, winding a strand of hair through his fingers (it glows in the moonlight and he’s become entranced with how she manages to have it always looking so different every day). “I hated when my Mom starting dating again, and - ”

Her lips are firm against his and even though he knows she’s not sure if they’re making the right decision, there’s a confidence in her touch, the way she presses her hand right to his heart. He thinks that maybe it’s been hers for awhile now, that he’s just been waiting for her to claim it.

“’m sorry, I just - ”

“It’s okay.” She traces his jawline and he closes his eyes at the caress, loving how careful she is with him. He likes her rough and demanding as well, likes all the sides of her, but moments like this, tucked up in bed with only a sliver of moonlight peeking through curtains, he feels more at home, more content, than he’s felt in a good long time. “They already know you, Blake. They LIKE you. I told them yesterday when we Facetimed before dinner, straight out told them that you’d be hanging with us for the afternoon. Because you’re my friend. You heard that.”

“Should I have bought ‘em something? A football or something?”

Gwen laughs then, a soft surprised noise that has his stomach knotting up in pleasure.

“A spaceship?” he continues, wanting more of that sound, the way she seems to think he’s funny even when he’s not.

“Only if there’s room enough for all of us on it,” she chuckles, nuzzling into his neck and dropping kisses there. It tickles in the best of ways.

“Seriously, though, I mean, I don’t want them to _bribe_ them into liking me, but if they don’t, then - ”

“Then we give them time, babe.” She searches his eyes, her own still slightly shuttered. He needs to let her sleep, knows she’s felt the kids’ absence even more than usual this week. “I don’t have all the answers, y’know, not to this. I never thought this would be my life, that I’d need to think about stuff like this…”

 

“’m sorry for wakin’ ya. They’ll be over early, right?”

Her smile is bigger then, genuine, and Blake knows how much she needs them in the home again, how on edge she’s been the past two days. He’s been around as much as possible but even the best sex in the world can’t exactly erase the fact that her children are with their fuck-up of a dad instead of with her. “Kingston said about nine. Their father has a meeting or something, apparently.” 

“I never thought this would be my life either,” he admits then. “I mean, you’re Gwen freakin’ Stefani, right?”

“Glad you know the name of the woman you’re sleeping with, cowboy. Makes me feel, like, real loved,” she teases.

“You are.”

He holds her as she cries (“Good tears,” she insists. “I just like hearing those words, y’know.”) herself to sleep, maybe even has to choke back a few of his own.

 

The knock on the door comes as they’re finishing breakfast (he’d made tea while she cooked), and he’s suddenly filled with anxiety again. Generally, he likes to think he’s a pretty easygoing guy, well-liked and comfortable in pretty much any situation. This is new, though.

Kingston is a little solemn and shakes his hand, a small smile playing on his lips when Blake compliments him on his cap. Zuma, on the other hand, is exuberant; almost running into the bench as he races around to give hugs to everyone. The biggest surprise comes with Apollo, though. He always forgets how quickly Gwen’s youngest is growing and when he hears his name from the boy’s lips, he starts, eyes widening. His little body is snuggled against his momma’s chest, and it’s a sight that has him wondering whether he’s in _too_ deep. It’s a stray thought, one he’ll need to examine later, because he’d thought that concern had been dealt with, that the decision that, yes, he wants this, ALL of it, had been made.

Gwen squeezes his hand behind the counter, and takes a last sip of her tea. “Gonna take the boys upstairs to unpack. You’ll be alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” She gives him a small smile, handing Apollo to the nanny who came over with them, before leaving the room. He follows her voice (“You finished the book!? I’m so proud of you, King.”) until it fades.

 

The kitchen feels wrong without her in it and so he quickly takes their dishes to the sink and makes himself comfortable in the living room. Gwen’s youngest is still a bit wobbly sometimes when he runs too fast and Blake can’t stop a laugh from bursting out of his chest when a little body crashes right into his legs. “Hey there, buddy. In a rush to get somewhere, are we?”

“Up. Up. Up.”

Hands rest on his knees (for more stability, he assumes) and he finds himself wanting to just pick Apollo up, cuddle him. He’s been around his fair share of kids over the years and he knows this shouldn’t feel any different. Hurtling towards the age of forty means his sister has kids, his friends have kids, his cousins have kids, and nearly everyone else as well. Even Adam’s told him that he and Behati have started trying. It always leaves him with an uncomfortable sense that he’s turned up too late, that he’s actually missed out.

 

But now Apollo is looking up at him, wide, trusting eyes and slightly drooly smile, and it’s like a small shoot of hope finds root within him.

 

“Wanna get up here?” He pats a space next to him on the couch, helping the toddler clamber up, a hand behind him to make sure he doesn’t fall back down. “Wonder if yer Mom’ll be impressed that I haven’t made you cry yet,” Blake laughs as Apollo’s hands and legs (and how many fucking limbs can a child have!?) seem to hit every last sensitive, soft spot, until he finally finds his balance standing on Blake’s thighs, fingers clinging hard to the old black shirt he’s wearing.

“Nose,” he says, and honestly, maybe parents have some way of knowing what the hell their children are trying to communicate but he hasn’t got a freaking clue.

“Yeah, nose,” he agrees, deciding to tweak Apollo’s. Does he like that or something? Apparently not. At first he thinks he’s succeeded in making first steps towards bonding, and then suddenly there’s a scrunching of the forehead, a trembling of the lips. Christ.

“Nooooooooo,” comes the cry, a soft, unsure little thing.

“Ah, I’m sorry, buddy,” Blake replies, gathering Apollo up tight to him, patting him on the back as steadily as he can manage. “It’s alright, it’s alright.” Calming, soothing tones, he knows that one. “You’re okay. Let’s keep quiet and let Momma and your brothers finish upstairs, hey?” He spies the nanny over Apollo’s unruly curls, rolls his eyes when she simply grins at him and shrugs her shoulders. No help from that quarter. Fumbling around with his left hand, he tries to find something to amuse him with (where are all the toys, for god’s sake?), all the while stroking his back in a repetitive motion. It seems to work and Blake breathes a sigh of relief when he feels the small body resting against his relax. “Now that’s better, isn’t it? We’re gonna be just fine.”

A small fist bumps against his temple before two tiny fingers latch onto his ear (and it’s a tighter grip than he’d been expecting), and he shoots Apollo an amused look.

“Well, except for some bruising apparently.”

 

Five minutes later, Gwen comes down the stairs, her two sons in tow and holding her hands. He doesn’t want to call out to her for fear of disturbing Apollo and so he just waits. Eventually, her head pokes around the entrance to the room.

“Oh.” Her hand flies to her mouth as her eyes flicker with some kind of emotion he can’t quite place. “Oh…” 

He pats Apollo’s back and sends his girlfriend an abashed look. “Guess he was tired, y’know.”

“You make a good pillow.” She blinks, and he suspects she's trying not to tear up.

Kingston and Zuma are standing there quietly observing and he feels like he’s either about to pass or fail a test. He knows the answer to the question he knows she’ll ask, though, has never been more confident of it.

 

“Uh, do you want me to take him or - ”

“We’re good. I’m happy to keep him with me.” Apollo snuffles a little, nuzzles into his chest further, and it’s such a warm, comfortable weight. Gwen’s eyes seem to lose a little of their intensity, and she comes to sit beside him, a small smile crossing her lips when she sees that her son has drooled all over Blake’s shirt.

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “Never been surer of anything.”


	5. Chapter 5

v.

 

He thinks it’s somewhere in between unpacking the groceries and starting to heat the pasta sauce that he realizes he has – in all the ways that count – a family. He’d grown up _in_ a family, of course, being a child, being a sibling, but that had changed over time, becoming less definable, less tangible. It had stretched in some areas (the in-laws, a nephew and niece) and shrunk in others (his father, an end to end all ends).

“Hurry uppppp,” Zuma says, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Mom’ll be downstairs in a second and you’re meant to be done.”

Laughing, he ruffles the boy’s hair and nudges his shoulder with his hip. “She won’t expect me to be done, buddy. Cooking’s not my strong suit.”

Kingston turns from where he’s standing at the bench cutting the parsley, his face screwed up. “That’s the one thing better at Dad’s – HE can cook. Mum does her best but…” 

“But what?” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised as she pokes her head into the kitchen. As she strides into the room (he likes when she carries herself confidently, like she knows how awesome she is), he’s once again struck by her magnetism. He knows most stars have it but he’d assumed that after hanging out with her for months, after dating her for almost as long, that the shine might have faded a bit. But it hasn’t. She’s electricity.

“Nothin’, Mom. Oh, by the way, did you remember to buy that chew toy for Betty today? Blake said she really wanted one for Christmas.”

“Wow. Good distraction technique there. Subtle.”

Kingston grins, waggling an eyebrow at Blake, and god, kids grow up _way_ too fast. He’s only really been in their lives for the past few months, and he swears the boys look older every single time they get back from their father’s house.

Gwen laughs and it’s one of those stupidly happy ones where she doesn’t try to stifle the way she sometimes snorts a little. He loves that. “There’s still time to escape, Blake,” she warns, sidling up to him and putting an arm around his waist, leaning in so she can see the progress being made on dinner. “Although, looking at that, maybe _I_ should be the one trying to escape…”

“Ouch.” He kisses the top of her head and gives Apollo (who’s watching warily from Gwen’s arms) a little bop on the nose. “Well, that’s the last time I try and do something nice for y’all, I guess.”

 

She takes the spoon from him, a swap for the baby, and one he’s only too happy to make. He loves hanging out with all three of his girlfriend’s kids more than he thought would be possible (Gwen had once admitted to him that she’d almost broken off their fledging relationship because she was scared he’d do the same once he realized what being with her meant in terms of an instant family), but Apollo… He might’ve missed the first steps and the first words but, as his Mom had tearfully pointed out to him on the phone the other day, Apollo probably won’t remember a time when Blake wasn’t in his life in a meaningful way. He’d gotten a little emotional too, then, because hell, he’s wanted to be a father for a long time now and while there’s almost no chance he’ll get to have biological kids, he gets this instead. And this is everything.

“Horsey now,” Apollo whines, his fingers clutching the collar of Blake’s shirt with an iron-fisted grip. “Noooooow.”

“Do you mind if we - ” he starts to ask his girlfriend, wincing as the toddler’s fingernails (Are they meant to get cut? He needs to ask Gwen someday) scratch his skin lightly. 

“Mmm, no. We’re good here. Just remember not to throw him around too much; his stomach’s been a little unsettled today and dinner’ll probably be ready in less than twenty minutes.”

“Got it.” Shifting Apollo to his hip, he walks into the family room, looking for a good space. He remembers playing a lot as a kid, but the level of energy these guys have is just insane and the more room the better, to be honest. Last Sunday, he’d fallen into the trap of playing football in the house with Kingston and an extremely expensive vase had been the casualty. Never again. They’d had a talk afterwards, he and Gwen, a slightly awkward, slightly humiliating lesson in not giving into the temptation to do everything the boys wanted. “They LIKE you, Blake, you don’t need to prove anything,” she’d said and the sympathy in her eyes had almost destroyed him. Because yeah, he doesn’t mind admitting he’s still finding his footing. _Having_ a stepfather doesn’t make the possibility of becoming one (no matter how slowly or carefully they move in that direction) any less frightening.

 

“On back! Horsey now!” And god, if the kid’s voice doesn’t do something to his insides. He’s not sure about the average vocabulary of a twenty-one-month old, but he’s pretty sure Apollo is an actual genius or something. It’s not _parental_ pride he’s feeling (that’s a word that needs to be earned and it’s way too early), but it’s something. Something real good. “Blakeeyyyyyy.”

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there. Have pity on an old man, kiddo.”

The boy’s curls tickle his chin as he carefully lowers them both to the carpeted floor. Almost immediately, he feels small hands at his back pushing him forwards and down. Right, horsey. That’s him. Of course. As he lets Apollo climb up and helps him find a stronghold in the loose material of his shirt, he finds himself remembering the first time he’d realized he was, to this little family, an actual cowboy.

 

They’d (and how quickly he’d started thinking of he and Gwen as a pair) been having a few drinks in his trailer after filming and she’d been in a more maudlin mood than usual. A few weeks of _stuff_ (making out, emotional talks, a few rough demo-ed tracks shared) had led him into this place of feeling. Intensely. There’d still been a lot of hurt, grief, and a numbing sense that his whole life had proven to be a completely false one, but more than that, he’d begun to feel good again. She’d made him feel that way again, with her soft smiles and kind eyes and hungry touches. And he’d thought maybe Gwen was in that place too. He’d noticed she didn’t talk about her ex as much, and that was probably a positive sign. He’d wanted to be on her mind more than _him_ , and if that made him a selfish bastard, well, so be it. 

 

“Faster, faster!” Apollo urges, and he quickly reaches a hand back, tickling the boy’s stomach because it always makes him giggle and squeal, and the only sounds Blake loves more are the ones he has the privilege of hearing in his or her bed almost every night.

“Hold on tight! Yee-hawww!” Rearing up, he grins as the toddler tries imitating the cry. “What a clever boy, hey? Bet Momma’ll be thrilled when you start shrieking that all the time.”

 

That night (and it feels like forever ago now, even if he can count the months on a single hand), she’d been sharing some photos with him from their family vacation in Montana. On happening across one of the three boys lined up in front of a stable, dressed head to toe in cowboy hats, plaid, jeans and boots, he’d been unable to stop from laughing. “God, Gwen, when you commit, you commit.”

She’d admitted that the boys were more than slightly obsessed with cowboys, that maybe she was playing into it a little by showing them some of his old videos on YouTube. “Mullet and all,” she’d said with a coy smile. “King was super impressed.”

“My game was non-existent; he shouldn’t be.”

“He’s nine, Blake!”

“He’s a nine-year-old BOY.”

 

He’s glad he doesn’t have a mullet now, is thankful for every damned strand of hair that had been cut off by his hairdresser recently. Because Apollo seems to think yanking on his grey curls is in fact the only and perfect way to control what direction his mount turns.

“Hey ‘pollo,” he says, wincing as the toddler bounces on his back. “Think we could maybe be a little more gentle with poor Blake?” Suddenly Apollo’s rolling off, a quick jump and tumble to the floor. He doesn’t seem hurt or anything, and so Blake just gathers him up in his arms for a hug, still kneeling on the floor. Gwen’s boys are all pretty physically affectionate and he’s not sure if it’s because they can sense he likes it, or because they just want to, but either way, it’s sort of the best thing. Kingston is the one he’d been most surprised by, really, simply because at first he’d been sort of reticent, wary. That had changed at a much faster pace than he’d expected based on his own childhood experiences (he remembers blatantly ignoring his mom’s future husband for weeks before deigning to greet him with a handshake), and he’s glad for it, for every warm, tight hug and even for the way he gets a little clingy sometimes when he gets back from his father’s house.

“Eats dinner Blake,” Apollo starts chanting, and taking the hint, he marches (“left, right, left right,” he says, amused by the way Apollo’s entire hand grips just one of his fingers) them both back into the kitchen where everything seems to be running fairly smoothly, Gwen serving up food onto their plates and the boys setting the table.

“Ah, my two favorite cowboys. Just in time.”

Blake laughs at the scowl that quickly crosses Zuma’s face. “Hey Gwen, I think you might want to fix that statement. Big guy here’s got his boots on - ” Another scowl. “And his super awesome ranch shirt. And doesn’t like being excluded.”

“Two OF my favorite cowboys, then?”

Appeased, the blond takes a seat at the head of the table, reluctantly shifting to the right when Gwen shoots him a look. Because that’s her place. Apollo sits to her left, with the two older boys on the right and him next to Apollo. And it’s kind of funny, really, how quickly he’s become used to this routine, as flexible and off-on again as it is.

Grace comes first.

“May He bless this food to our bodies, amen.”

And then it’s chaos, twenty minutes of unmitigated chaos. There’s some kind of order to it, of course, polite entreaties to pass the grated cheese, brief questions and answers about the day the boys had at school, a quick mop up of sauce from Apollo’s chin. Mostly, though, it’s just noise.

He loves it.

 

Towards the end of the meal (Zuma’s half-sliding from his chair, groaning that he NEEDS more and why can’t he have it), he finds himself begging Apollo to put the final piece of bread in his mouth. He’s tried all the tricks he can remember but it ain’t happening. Eventually, Kingston takes mercy on him, sympathetically taking the slightly soppy crust and convincing Apollo to swallow it. The nine-year-old gives him a condescending pat on the shoulder as he moves to return to his chair and, if he’s asked later, he’ll deny it, but at that moment, he feels this swelling up of gratitude so ridiculously great that he feels that weight in his chest, that tension in his jaw, that means he’s close to tears.

 

Later that night, when the boys are all tucked up in bed and Gwen’s tucked up beside him, he lets himself go, lets a few tears fall onto his pillow. Nobody can see, nobody can hear, and he’s been trying to be more honest with himself and his emotions lately. He wants to be the best he can for her, and Blake knows that it’s easier to trust him when he shows her all sides of who is he, even the messy ones.

And he wants to earn her trust, wants her to – one day – stand in front of him and vow to love and to hold him forever, and for her to be confident that he’ll keep that promise too.


	6. Chapter 6

vi.

 

“Did you know that the dad seahorses are the ones that actually give birth? Pretty weird, right?” 

“Right,” Blake agrees, his fork halting in its progress to his mouth. He’s trying to get through his pancakes before Kingston can reach over and steal any, and he’s not having a lot of luck. Apollo’s going through a clingy phase - which delights him as much as it boggles his mind (because who would’ve thought?) - and has been insisting on sitting on ‘Blakey’’s lap for every meal this past week. And now Gwen’s middle child has apparently decided that simply because he has a ranch, he’s some kind of animal expert…

“Like how would that even work?”

“Uh, that’s a great question, Zum, but - " 

“But you don’t know the answer?” 

“Um, not exactly, no, buddy. We could maybe google it?”

Sighing heavily, Zuma turns away, stabbing his own syrup-drenched pancake and shoving the whole thing into his mouth. 

“Guess that’s a no, then,” he says under his breath to his girlfriend. “Also, I think Apollo might need a change? Did you want me to - ”

She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, shakes her head. “Nah, it’s good. I’ve got it. Make sure the boys go and brush their teeth when they’re finished demolishing their breakfast, though?”

 

It’s only when they’ve gotten home from picking Kingston and Zuma up from school, and are watching afternoon cartoons with Apollo as he sips on some orange juice, that Blake realizes how completely his normal has changed. A year ago he’d been happily married, only just beginning to sense that things weren’t quite right. It feels so long ago, that life, those memories, even though he’s constantly being told by the still ridiculously invasive media that they’re moving ‘too fast’. He’d moved slowly with his other marriages, inched towards them with a reluctance which should’ve been a warning, and that pace (or lack thereof) sure hadn’t been some kind of failsafe.

“Hey Mom! Need some new shoes!” Zuma comes tearing into the room at his usual breakneck pace, clutching a pair of ratty sneakers in his hands as though they have the plague. And looking at the holes and smears and god knows what else, maybe they do. “Kai has these awesome green Nikes. Can I get ‘em?”

“I’m pretty sure we got you some new ones last week, right? When Blake took you to the mall?” 

“Maybe?” he hedges, shooting Blake a glance.

“We did buy him a pair then, yeah.” It’s a concession that wins him no favors with Zuma but he’s proud of himself all the same, strangely enough. Hanging out with kids came and comes easily to him – being their friend, throwing balls, even helping with homework occasionally. Being a parent or step-parent, though (and he’s not _that_ but it almost feels inevitable), is more than that. He’s always been aware of it, had never envied his friends and sister when the kids had been acting up and they’d had to put their foot down. As the months have gone on, he’s been stepping into that role more and more and it’s an uncomfortable fit for him, frankly. He likes being liked (at least by those who matter to him), after all.

“Such a traitor, Blake,” King calls out from the other side of the room where his head is buried in a Goosebumps book he’d borrowed from the school library.

“If it’s a choice between lyin’ to your Mama and having you boys like me more, she’s gonna win every single time, ‘m ‘fraid.”

 

Kingston rolls his eyes and swings his legs up over the side of the armchair, looks over at where they sit with Apollo in between them. “Hey…” he says hesitantly, putting the book aside. “Can I ask you something?”

Blake straightens up, lifts the fidgety toddler into his lap and gives him one of the small trucks he’s taken to keeping in his pockets. “Of course. You know you can.”

“You’re gonna marry Mom eventually, right? Like not now or anything but sometime. And that means you’ll be our stepdad, right? Do we still call you Blake then or what? I just, I think it would feel weird calling you dad because I’ve already got one of those and you’re not my dad, but I don’t want to like hurt your feelings or - ”

“Buddy, you can call me anything you want. Now, ten years from now. You can even change your mind. We talked about this, right, when I first started staying here, yeah?”

“It’s just – You know how you’ve started picking us up at school, and some of my friends keep asking questions. And I know we have to keep private about stuff so I’m not gossipin’ or anything but I had to explain why someone from TV was driving us home and they sort of know you’re dating Mom now, of course, but Brett called you my stepdad and it sort of felt bad. Like I almost wanted to apologize to Dad or something.”

“You know I had stepparents, right?” he asks, as casually as he can manage with a growing lump in his throat, because kids are _bold_ and even if he’s been thinking about the possibility of eventually marrying Gwen, they haven’t really had that conversation properly yet.

 

One of the first times they’d properly connected, he and Kingston, he’d found the boy in his bedroom angrily scrawling on some paper, and they’d ended up talking about how Blake had first coped with his parents’ divorce – how it had been a relief in some ways but also the worst thing ever, that when boyfriends and girlfriends had come into the mix, he’d acted out sometimes.

“Well, I always called them by their first names, still do. Doesn’t mean that I didn’t love them or respect them. And they still acted like parents. It’s just a name, y’know. Whatever makes y’all comfortable is the right thing.” He glances at his girlfriend, who’s watching the whole conversation carefully, her eyes flashing with an intensity that he’s come to associate with the bedroom, with ‘I love you’ and ‘you make me so happy’. In this context, it feels even more precious. “Even after your Mom and I get hitched and I officially become something different than I am now.” Gwen blinks, and his heart beats a little faster when a small smile plays across her lips.

“What ‘bout Apollo?” Zuma pipes up, his face popping up over the back of the couch as he reaches for his brother’s hand. “He’s still really young. What if he like starts thinking you’re his daddy or something?”

“Having two dads wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, I don’t think,” Gwen says softly. “You can’t ever have too much love.”

“I’m just Blakey to him right now, though. If that ever changes, that’ll be fine too. Unless he starts just calling me Stinky Pants, in which case I’m outta here…” He grins at the little boy in his lap, wipes a little drool from the corner of his mouth.

 

“I think you’re stuck with us,” Zuma ventures. “Also, those new sneakers?”

“Yeah, no. Not happening,” he laughs. “Try again next week, maybe, and pout a little more. Your Mom’s a sucker for that.”

“I still think you shoulda stuck up for me, Blake. You’re a boy too.”

“Not how it works, I’m afraid. But if you feel the need to punish me, you go right ahead. Just don’t damage the face; I’ve got filming in a couple of days and the network won’t be thrilled if I’m all bruised from your punches.”

The seven-year-old considers for a moment (and he knows that that face – contemplative – doesn’t bode well for him) before running off, presumably to his bedroom.

 

“Bad idea?” he asks Gwen ruefully.

“Remains to be seen but I’m guessing yes.”

“Me too.” Kingston pipes up. “A bit fat yes. He told me last week that he thought it would be funny if you made him get a manicure or dye his hair or something.”

“The horror!” Blake exclaims, quirking an eyebrow. “Ruin these luscious gray locks?”

 

When Zuma returns, nail polishes clutched in his hands, he finds himself automatically recoiling a little. He still remembers the first time he’d had to wear make-up for a photoshoot, how strange it had felt on his skin and how he’d been a little embarrassed. Now that’s routine, normal. Nail polish, however, is not.

“On me?” he asks cautiously, pointing to the bottles.

“Of course,” Zuma replies, unscrewing the lid of the black one. “It’ll be really cool, promise. It’s always better if you get it done at the nail place, but I can do it, too. Or Mom can. King’s a bit messy, though.”

“Uh, yeah, maybe she could. I trust ya, I do, but…”

“And then you can do mine, okay?”

“You’d trust me?”

“Sure,” Zuma says easily, jumping onto the couch beside him, laughing when Apollo tries to steal the bottle.

Gwen takes the toddler from his arms, murmuring sweet endearments into his curls as she cajoles him. “I might get this little cowboy up to bed, and leave you in my sons’ steady hands, ‘kay?”

“I feel like I’m being thrown to the wolves, babe…”

“No cheating or wriggling out of this. I’ll be back soon and you’d better be looking pretty.”

 

He raises a sceptical eyebrow, holds his hands out towards Zuma and wiggles his fingers. “Do your worst, buddy. Perfection can’t be improved on.”


End file.
